


Centennial: Warmth

by the49thname



Series: Centennial [2]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the49thname/pseuds/the49thname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If hatred was bitterly cold then love was warmth, and the love Marie had given her had set her free. Part of a 100-part fic based on 100 themes. Marie/Miranda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centennial: Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! Here is the next installment of Centennial, with a small piece for the pairing Marie/Miranda, which is an adorable ship that needs so much more love. This ficlet is for the theme Warmth, enjoy!!
> 
> Fandom: D.Gray-Man  
> Pairing: Marie/Miranda  
> Song the fic was written to: Like The Dawn by The Oh Hellos  
> Warnings: None

If love was warmth then hatred was bitterly cold.

She knew of hatred, knew its irrational fervour and the claim it had upon those seeped in bitterness and vehemence. Had she been hated? It was a question she could not bear to answer, but perhaps she had been.

After all, who could love a failure?

If apathy were something measurable, then her parents would have been immeasurably apathetic towards her achievements and immeasurably enraged towards her failures. She seemed innately able to ruin everything she touched, as if her very touch made wood splinter and fabric tear. And so from childhood to grim adulthood she drifted from job to job, ignored by most and hated by some. Names and insults gathered dust in shadowed corners of her mind, occasionally floating to the surface as yet another failure was added to the already-lengthy list. It was a scroll of parchment rolling endlessly to the horizon, deed upon misdeed written in blotted ink.

So when she found herself as an accommodator of Innocence, blessed by God’s power, she could only presume it would end with yet more failures, more misdeeds added to an endless list. But there were those who had faith in her, faith that burned brightly like a candle’s wavering yet resolute flame amongst a heavy darkness. And for a time she felt as close to happiness as she had ever been -- it was an indescribable lightness within her heart, a goodbye to dust-covered names and a hello to a future that seemed full of hope.

Yet failure was doomed to come, as it always did, and it came in the form of death and destruction, Akuma bullets and a flame-filled night. She protected them knowing they would die, knowing that the brief extension to their brightly burning life would soon be extinguished, and all she had done was prolong it by a mere few hours.

Kind words reached her ears, so near exhaustion and giving up that she was. She felt so full of despair at this kindness, for how could she deserve such a thing? She should have done better, tried harder, fought harder and harder and _harder_ so that no-one had died.

Sometimes she understood why Allen threw himself so desperately into battles.

The heavy burden of guilt sat like a weight upon her heart and shoulders, iron shackles gripping its claws deeply into her entire being until she felt it in her bones with every step and every breath. If only this, if only that -- her future seemed plagued with doubts of her past. This hatred of herself, this bitter cold that dwelled within her soul, only grew with each supposed failure until no fire could ease the trembling she felt. But it was upon their return home, safe and sound despite their cuts and bruises, that she felt a small weight lifted from her shoulders. It was through smiles and laughter, tender care and tender embraces -- she felt it as warmth that spread from the tiniest flame within her heart to seeping into her very bones, the very tips of her fingertips.

And it seemed a man, with eyes unseeing, would have given her this warmth to hold on to.

He carried such heavy burdens, yet he smiled as if his soul was as light as a feather. Small remarks on her strength -- _what strength_ \-- and her selflessness -- _what selflessness_ \-- and her beauty -- _what beauty_ \-- fanned the flames battling the bitter cold residing within her heart. And she found herself smiling more, sleeping more, caring more for others and abandoning her cold bitter hatred for warm tender love. Her heart was shaking itself free from years of dust and drudgery, breaking free of its self-made cage and spreading its wings. With each smile, each brushing of fingertips in darkened corridors, each tentative kiss and each tentative embrace, she was freeing herself from the years she had spent simply existing.

Now she lived, and it was so beautifully _warm_ it brought her to tears.

So when she found herself protecting them -- the people who had taken her in, her _friends_ \-- from the Level Four, close to collapse and closer still to her own undoing, she felt strong arms hold her gently, pulling her back to reality despite its grimness with tender words and even more tender embraces. _Miranda, it’s okay you can stop now it’s over. You did a great job_. The tears ran down her face -- it was over. The bloodshed, the fear, the uncertainty -- it was all over, and she had done _well_. She had not failed; she had protected the lives of those closest to her, fought as hard as the others.

And there he sat, hand upon her own, praising her with a gentle smile.

So, if hatred was bitterly cold, then love was warmth, and the love Marie had given her had set her free.


End file.
